


A Sunset Romance

by Gramarye



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Genre: Book: Over Sea Under Stone, Book: The Dark is Rising, Cornwall, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Mid-Canon, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 16:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gramarye/pseuds/Gramarye
Summary: At the end of the summer season in Trewissick, the Professor has returned to stay at the Grey House. This time, however, he has brought a lady with him...and from the look of things, their relationship goes beyond anything that might be interpreted as mere friendship.





	A Sunset Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rymenhild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rymenhild/gifts).



> An expanded version of a trope prompt ficlet, courtesy of the ever-delightful Rymenhild, who requested _fake dating, Merriman Lyon_. Once I stopped giggling at the prompt, I started to see how it might actually work! So continuing my original response, here is a few thousand words of Merriman and Miss Greythorne fake dating, set in the autumn between the events of _Over Sea, Under Stone_ and _The Dark Is Rising_.

The streets of Trewissick are not well equipped to deal with wheelchairs. The ones that are not cobbled are rather steep, and sometimes they are both cobbled _and_ steep. And for all of Professor Merriman Lyon's skill at driving his antique Daimler along Cornish roads that should not possibly be able to accommodate its bulk, it is quite another thing to work the same magic when the vehicle and its single occupant must be pushed from behind, with far greater care and consideration than a motor vehicle requires.

So when the Professor brought his lady friend to the Grey House at the tail end of the summer season, the women of the village sighed with wistful delight with how romantic a figure he looked, his wild white hair ruffled by the salt air as he carried his companion in his arms through places where her wheelchair could not go easily. He moved with her as if she weighed nothing at all; one arm supported her back while the other securely held her legs beneath her knees, as her slender arms embraced his neck and shoulders. _Just like a new bride_ , one long-married matron was heard to murmur to another, neither wishing to recall how their own husbands had staggered and stumbled over their nuptial threshold with them many years ago. But where a newlywed couple would be all giddy fumbling and secretive delight, the Professor and his lady sailed through Trewissick with a calm, majestic air, like the glide of a full-rigged ship on smooth seas.

The lady -- who wasted no time in introducing herself to curious visitors and passers-by as _Miss Mary Greythorne_ in proud and magisterial tones -- seemed to be completely at ease with the Professor's attentions. He spread blankets over her knees when they sat outside to enjoy the morning sun. She smiled at him with a sharp, sly fondness that took years off her age. In the cool evenings, he had a shawl in hand for her almost before she could turn to him to ask for one. She would rest her fingertips on his arm as they talked, and the light in her eyes needed no words to speak of long companionship and deep, abiding trust.

It looked like an old-fashioned courtship, the sort that their grandmothers would have daydreamed about as girls. No matter how it had come to pass at this time in their lives, there was no hint of melancholy or regret about them, nothing to suggest that they were anything other than content with what they had together. And though there were a few who stared at the wheelchair, Miss Greythorne stared back at them with such frank interest that she was never the first one to look away.

No one stared at the Professor, of course. No one would be quite _that_ foolish.

* * * *

One of the local teahouses, known for its strong tea and substantial scones (and its gently sloped wooden walkway, leading up to a terrace with a view of the harbour and the sea), soon became a preferred spot for their afternoon outings. After their second visit, Mrs Tregarren, the owner, took it upon herself set aside a table for them, over in a corner of the terrace where Miss Greythorne's wheelchair would not be bumped by other patrons. The look of gratitude the Professor gave her was worth twice the amount of the generous order he placed that day, including a request for two scones to take away with them to enjoy with breakfast the next morning. And the following day, he and Miss Greythorne were once again back at that same table at precisely three o'clock. 

Unusually, for the end of the summer season, they had the entire terrace to themselves. It was a sunny afternoon, and Miss Greythorne had donned a wide-brimmed plaited straw hat that looked as if it hadn't seen the light of day in decades. Mrs Tregarren took their orders for two cream teas and a bowl of fresh mixed berries with sugar, but a crash from the direction of the kitchen made her press her lips together and bustle off to investigate the damage. 

Once their hostess had retreated indoors, Miss Greythorne looked over at her companion. 'Was that really necessary?' she said, more amused than reproachful.

'Not my doing, I assure you,' Merriman replied, with a shake of his head. 'There are easier ways to avoid being overheard than wilful destruction of crockery.'

'Trust you to play by the rules, when it suits you.' She leaned back in her chair, tilting her chin up to let the sun play across her face. 'But it's a fine day for sitting out here by ourselves all the same.'

'I am glad that you find it to your liking.'

Miss Greythorne chuckled, low in her chest. 'You think I wouldn't like the first holiday I've had in longer than I care to remember?' A quirk of her lips turned her smile from wry to wistful. 'I've treasured it,' she said, in a much softer voice. 'Each moment more than the last.'

Merriman's brows drew together at the noticeable change in her tone. 'I know that it cannot have been easy all these years,' he said, after a moment. 'And yet -- '

' -- and yet the duty comes first, always.' Miss Greythorne let her head drop, her eyes glinting out at him from beneath the shadow of her hat's voluminous brim. 'Was that what you were going to say?'

Merriman took her interruption in stride. More than that, he moved one hand forward to cover her own where it rested on the warm wood of the tabletop, overlapping her slim, bony fingers with his large ones. 'And yet you have borne it well, with a strength and grace that few of us could hope to rival,' he said, his own voice quieter still. At the look she gave him, a slight smile touched his own mouth. 'I _am_ supposed to be giving you compliments on occasion, if this part of mine is to be played properly,' he added.

In response, Miss Greythorne turned her hand just enough to twine their fingers in a loose clasp. 'Well, listen to you,' she said smoothly. 'And here I thought you weren't warming up to me.'

Staring down at their now-joined hands, Merriman abruptly cleared his throat. His fingers twitched, the faintest of movements, but he did not draw his hand away. 'What was it that you wished to say to me here, that you felt you could not say this morning?' he said, looking up at her once more.

It was an obvious change of subject, but Miss Greythorne did not seem to question it. Instead, her expression grew serious, nothing teasing in it now. 

'I never did ask why you thought it worth the risk to bring me here.' She turned her head to look out over the harbour, where a handful of small craft were bobbing on the waves. 'So soon after the children were here, and with so little time before Midwinter....' Further out, a RNLI lifeboat was charting a brisk eastward course, heading back to its home station in Fowey. 'I would have expected you to steer clear of this place.'

'I had considered it,' Merriman said.

'And there's the manor, of course.' Miss Greythorne continued as if he hadn't uttered a word. 'Showing up. Whisking me off. Barely enough time to make everything secure beforehand. Not that Dawson and the rest can't shoulder their parts properly, but honestly, Lyon, you aren't exactly one for impetuous decisions.' Her eyes narrowed. 'You can't blame me for being at least a _little_ concerned.'

Merriman gave a rumble of assent that might have been apologetic, though his neutral expression did not change. 

'So why _here_? Why _now_?' Even though Miss Greythorne never raised her voice above a conversational tone, there was a force behind it that was as strong as a shout. 'Why...all _this_?'

For a long moment, Miss Greythorne's words hung in the air with an odd resonance, like the echo of a great wave crashing against the rocks that shielded Trewissick's harbour. Merriman said nothing, but waited until the last faint shivering harmonics had faded into the soft swell of the sea in the distance, leaving only the rhythms of the ebbing tide. And when he did speak, his words had a similarly strange and powerful resonance of their own -- one that no human ear would have been able to detect.

'At present, our adversaries have no love for this place,' he said. 'Their own wrath and wounded pride are effective enough deterrents, even without our protective measures. Rather than spend their strength needlessly, they will retreat to their own fortifications to gather their power for the winter to come, and for what they hope to achieve then. So for the time being, we are in little danger here.' He paused, and when he continued his voice had taken on a more normal, placid tone. 'That is one reason.'

Miss Greythorne tilted her head like a bird, fixing him with a suddenly inquisitive stare. 'And is there more than one?'

This time, it was Merriman's turn to redirect his gaze out over the harbour. The lifeboat was nearly out of sight, and the reflected glimmer of sunlight on sea had a dazzling effect on the vast expanse of horizon, making it impossible to tell where the ocean and the sky truly met. 'One way or another,' he said slowly, seeming to choose his words with great care, 'this is one of the last summers we will see upon this earth. At the turn of the year, the Circle will be complete. Events will move quickly after that. And I thought it best -- '

He paused, as if to collect his thoughts. But Miss Greythorne was attuned to the nuances of his hesitation, and she chose to press the issue in the most literal sense, brushing the pad of her thumb lightly over the gnarled ridge of his knuckles. 'Yes?' she said, the barest hint of encouragement.

Merriman looked down at their hands again, watching the gentle motion of her thumb. When he looked up, there was a deep, raw honesty in his expression that made Miss Greythorne's hand go still. 'I thought it best to share this summer's end, in this place, with someone who would appreciate it. Perhaps with the one who would appreciate it most.'

Miss Greythorne returned his gaze in silence, her eyes as bright and clear as those of the young woman she had once been in a time long past. A few grey strands had slipped loose from the high knot of her hair, tucked up in the oversized straw hat, and the afternoon's breeze made them flutter against her cheeks. And yet perhaps it was just as well, in that moment that seemed to stretch out beyond any true measurement of time, that the clatter of crockery on a tray brought them back into the here and now and caused them to draw apart, until they were sitting just as they had been when Mrs Tregarren had gone indoors to investigate the potential wreckage in her kitchen.

'I'm so sorry for rushing off like that,' Mrs Tregarren said, all smiles and with only a slight flush to suggest that she'd been hard at work clearing up a mess. 'Two cream teas, and fresh raspberries today.' As she set the plates and cups down, she glanced at Miss Greythorne, and grew concerned when she saw that the lady seemed to be blinking rapidly, as if trying to keep her eyes from watering. 'Is the sun too strong here, Miss Greythorne? If you'd rather move indoors -- '

Miss Greythorne waved away the suggestion. 'No, no need for that, my dear,' she said breezily. 'Just caught the reflection off the water wrong. Besides, _this_ one needs the sun more than I do, spending all his time buried in his books.' She nodded at her companion, who blinked as well in mild surprise at the critique. 'I'm glad of a chance to shake the dust off him for once.'

'In defence of the dust,' Merriman said, looking up at Mrs Tregarren with the utmost seriousness, 'it is only a thin layer.'

'As long as I'm not sneezing my head off around you, I've no complaints.' Miss Greythorne huffed an amused breath through her nose. 'Though really, neither sun nor dust has ever bothered me much. I couldn't have spent all that time in the stables if it had.'

Mrs Tregarren's ears perked up at such an unexpected piece of information. She wasn't one for idle gossip, but as a tearoom proprietor it never hurt to engage one's guests on subjects of their particular interest. 'Are you fond of horses, Miss Greythorne?' she asked.

'Finest hunt seat in the Home Counties, in my day. Never thrown but the once.' Miss Greythorne seemed to carry this as a point of great pride, for she shot an oddly triumphant look at her companion. 'Isn't that so, Lyon?'

'Never but the once,' he echoed, and his mouth quirked in a manner that had the shape of a smile.

Mrs Tregarren caught the inner edge of her lower lip between her teeth. Any curiosity she might have felt at this oblique conversation was quelled by the sense that she was standing very close to the edge of a precipice, and that it would not be wise to approach any further. Thankfully, there was a safe way out. 'If you need anything else, Professor, Miss Greythorne,' she said, holding the empty tray in front of her with both hands, 'do let me know.'

They both nodded and smiled politely, and she took her leave. It wasn't her imagination, though, that she heard the words _you sentimental old fool_ slip past her just before she was out of earshot, and she suspected that Miss Greythorne hadn't particularly cared who might hear them.

Merriman and Miss Greythorne took their time over the tea, as they had on the previous days. When it was time to settle their bill, they had another request for their hostess.

'Mrs Tregarren,' Merriman said, 'would it be possible to order a picnic luncheon for two for tomorrow morning? I would stop by to collect it, perhaps around eleven.'

'No need to come all the way here, Professor. I'll have my Nancy bring it to the Grey House by eleven on the dot.'

'That would be ideal, thank you.' From the depths of his suit jacket pocket, he produced a small notebook and a fountain pen. 'If you would give us a moment, I will write down our requests for you.'

'Oh, do give me that pen.' Quick as a cat on the pounce, Miss Greythorne leaned forward and all but plucked the pen out of his unsuspecting hand. 'If I let you have your way, you'll ask for piccalilli all over everything.'

One unruly white eyebrow went up. 'Not _everything_ , surely.'

'He'd put it on the scones if you let him,' Miss Greythorne said to Mrs Tregarren, in a conspiratorial aside, as she waved the pen just outside his immediate reach. 'And you'd be horrified to see how much curry he likes in his coronation chicken.'

In the end, the picnic requests that were written down seemed like perfectly normal ones, with no unspeakable horrors as to relishes or seasonings, and Mrs Tregarren promised to have the basket delivered to them by eleven as requested. They both thanked her, and left another generous tip along with the final amount of the bill. Mrs Tregarren moved to one side so there would be enough room to manoeuvre Miss Greythorne's wheelchair off the terrace, and as she turned to head back inside with the next day's order and that afternoon's payment, she paused to contemplate the lovely if bittersweet picture that the Professor and his lady friend made as he pushed her wheelchair up the sloping streets to the Grey House, their lengthening shadows progressing with stately dignity along the sides of the buildings in the peaceful afternoon light.

Just an ordinary elderly couple, enjoying a sunset romance in a quiet Cornish village. 

How nice that they have each other, in the time that remains for them.

 

 _So here's an end of roaming_  
      _On eves when autumn nighs:_  
_The ear too fondly listens_  
      _For summer's parting sighs,_  
      _And then the heart replies._

\-- A. E. Housman

**Author's Note:**

> I can't entirely recall where I first saw it discussed that Miss Greythorne's accident seems to be connected in some way to the protective magic around Greythorne Manor, in light of the vulnerability that Hawkin's betrayal created and the spreading repercussions of that betrayal across the timeline. Regardless, in this context, the manor and Miss Greythorne are linked, and so her absence from it would have required a certain amount of magical rearranging to ensure that everything would remain secure...because Will Stanton has not yet had his eleventh birthday here, and so the Old Ones of Huntercombe have a temporary extra duty to fulfil. (Though I'm sure they'd all agree that Miss Greythorne deserves this particular seaside holiday.)
> 
> Many thanks to Rymenhild for the original prompt!


End file.
